


Deep Water

by partypaprika



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: Retired from the Marines and years away from serving with Nate Fick, Brad meets him again on slightly different terrain.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick
Comments: 23
Kudos: 167
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	Deep Water

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [ThrillingDetectiveTales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales) for beta reading!

Just like any other given year, the lead-up to the Bravo 2 lake weekend was filled with Ray’s unique brand of pestering ramped up and focused in on Brad. Unable to take it on faith that Brad would be attending, Ray texted Brad well over a dozen times trying to find out if Brad was going to come. At first, he started out subtle, trying to dig up Brad’s plans before he turned to outright plaintive sounding texts, almost begging Brad to come with him to Wisconsin.

Brad wasn’t much up for most of the events, official or unofficial, related to his past days in the Corps. The Bravo 2 lake weekend was one of the few that he went to, and probably the only one that he actually enjoyed. At first, the get-together had started as a somewhat-annual barbeque for Bravo 2 or related marines in the Pendleton area. Over the years, it morphed as the men spread out into a weekend trip for those who could make it.

While Brad had been active, he’d only made it out to the occasional barbeque or, in its later incarnation, occasional weekend since he’d often been on one assignment or another. But, since he’d retired a few years ago just after hitting forty, he hadn’t missed one.

He felt like it should have been pretty clear to Ray that, based on past evidence, the chance of Brad showing up was pretty high. Unfortunately, if common sense had been a class, Ray would have absolutely flunked it. And so, Ray, delicate flower that he was, required more reassurance. Having safely sent over the money for Brad’s share of the cabin and food to Poke and deeply enjoying getting Ray riled up, Brad feigned ignorance and made non-committal responses until Ray finally gave up and called him in exasperation.

“Alright, Brad,” Ray grumbled as soon as Brad picked up. “I have three demons disguised as kids that I am finally escaping for the weekend and so help me god, if you’re not there, I will fly out to DC and force you onto a plane myself.”

“But then you’d miss part of the weekend,” Brad pointed out.

“Don’t bring logic into this!” Ray said. “My sanity hangs on by the thinnest of threads. And, besides, you wouldn’t do that to your favorite marine. Your old pal, Ray.” Brad couldn’t resist smiling.

In all fairness to Ray, if Brad had been left to his own devices, he probably would have fallen out of touch with Bravo 2 as he continued the normal career-cycle through the Corps. He had liked the platoon well enough, but he wasn’t usually the type to email or call, and even the most intense of bonds formed with a unit tended to fade as Brad integrated into new units and developed relationships within them.

Ray, on the other hand, apparently could not handle being out of contact with anyone. Ever. He almost single-handedly kept Brad involved in the former Bravo 2 loop, taking on all the effort of actually communicating with other people and distilling it down to what Brad actually needed to know. That, of course, didn’t stop Ray from talking his ear off about whatever dumb shit Ray was currently obsessed with, but Brad had long since gotten used to Ray’s unique level of inanity and stupidity.

“You make a good point. If logic was required for any part of our calls, I’d have to sit here listening to silence,” Brad said.

“Come on,” Ray whined, more than a little plaintively. “I’m really looking forward to the weekend and I’m reasonably certain that you’re coming, but I want to know that I’ll get to see you. Don’t deprive me of that excitement.”

“I’m not going to kiss you in the rain,” Brad said. “And friendship bracelets are also out. So set your expectations accordingly, but yes, I will be coming.”

Ray whooped and Brad smiled at that. He was looking forward to the long weekend trip as well, excited to see the other men, even if he would never give Ray ammunition like that to torture him with in the future.

“Hallelujah,” Ray said. From the background there came a muffled sardonic new voice that said “Yes, hallelujah, indeed.”

“Is that Anne?” Brad asked.

“Yep,” Ray said cheerfully, he paused for a second, listening to more muffled talking that Brad couldn’t really make out. “She says maybe I’ll finally stop bothering her about it. She should know better by now. Oh, and you remember Nate Fick?”

Brad’s stomach dropped a little, almost pleasantly so, at the mention of Nate. Now that was a name Brad hadn’t heard in a while.

“Are you asking if I’ve somehow forgotten our common commanding officer?” Brad asked. He could almost hear Ray roll his eyes over the phone.

“It was a rhetorical question, Brad,” Ray said. “Ok, yes, you obviously know him. Well, he’s coming up for the weekend. Talk about a blast from the past.”

Fick. Nathaniel Fick. Nate. The name rolled around in Brad’s head and if Brad had let himself, each spot that it landed, each memory that the name conjured up would have been accompanied by a little frisson of excitement, a bolt of electricity. But Brad ruthlessly squashed that down. Nate Fick, he reminded himself. His former commanding officer. Brad may have been retired, but that was no excuse to let himself wander down a daydream that had no business existing.

“Yeah,” Brad said when he realized that Ray was waiting for an answer. Wouldn’t it be weird for Fick to join what was essentially a former all-enlisted men’s weekend?

And god bless Ray, he kept the thread right on going. “Apparently, Lovell and Fick are both working for the same company and Lovell and Mike Wynn both convinced Fick that everyone wanted to see him blah blah blah, all that emotional shit. And so, he’s coming!”

“Maybe you can bug him all weekend instead of me,” Brad said.

“I would never,” Ray said, mock-offended. “Besides, I know how much you would miss it if I wasn’t there to drape myself all over you.” He moved on to other topics, safer topics, like his twelve-year-old son’s recent obsession with uploading videos of himself to the internet and Brad let the habit of the conversation move him onto sturdier ground.

When Brad had retired from the Marines, he’d taken a job as a program manager with Lockheed Martin out in Bethesda. He’d wanted to go back to California, but the process of finding a job for the first time in…twenty-two years had been stressful enough that when Lockheed Martin had offered the job, Brad had accepted, figuring that as long as he didn’t fuck this up too badly, he could always use it as a springboard for the next job back in California.

It had been rough for that first year or so and he’d come to find that having the relationship with his Bravo 2 team had eased the transition as much as it could be eased. That was all to say that Brad was also excited for the weekend, although, as he reminded himself for possibly the hundredth time as he got off of the plane in Milwaukee, it was not at all related to anyone _new_ that he might see this year.

There were about fifteen or so men coming up this year and they were all arriving at varying times on Friday evening, so Poke, this year’s organizer, had emailed around general groupings for who would be driving over with whom.

Brad had volunteered to drive and would be taking up Ray, who should have gotten in half an hour before Brad, as well as Pappy and Rudy. But, when he turned his phone immediately post-flight, a bunch of notifications popped up on his screen.

 _dude, i am so fucking stoked_ , from Ray, which Brad ignored, which was immediately followed by: _should we pick up some extra alcohol on the way?_ and then, _yes, we definitely need to make a pit stop, we can never have too much_.

The next message, one that Brad did not immediately flip past, was from Poke letting him know that Rudy’s flight had been delayed, so he would come later with Eric Kocher, but that Fick and Lovell had also been delayed and would need a ride.

 _got it_ , Brad texted back. _also, Ray seems to think that you need more alcohol_

 _thanks_ , Poke texted back immediately, and then _, if he wants to buy more alcohol, who am I to stop him?_

Then, with a sigh and a sense of misgiving, Brad texted back Ray, _landed._

Ray texted back a completely undecipherable set of emojis.

Ray was waiting at the gate when Brad got off the plane. “God, you’re like a stalker,” Brad said, more than a little fondly as he let Ray pull him into a hug.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Ray said and god help him, Brad did, even if he’d never admit it. They chatted (or really Ray chatted) about their flights as they walked towards the terminal. Ray had flown up from St. Louis where he and his wife lived and had apparently found plenty of things from the flight that he deemed worthy of conversation. Brad pitied Ray’s unlucky seatmates.

When they stepped into the baggage claim, Brad immediately identified Mike Wynn and Pappy chatting, their posture at ease at the far end, right near the exit. The third person with them, back turned to Brad and Ray, must have been Fick, although he looked so much more solidly built from the back than Brad remembered him being. Although that seemed like something which Brad should have expected. Brad’s body had also changed in the intervening years from lean muscle to a more defined and sturdier base.

Brad had only a few moments to synthesize the information coming at him before Mike caught sight of them, raising his hand in a wave and then Pappy did the same, prompting Fick to turn around.

It had been almost twenty years since they’d last seen one another and Brad still felt the familiar zing of awareness zip into place, his whole being suddenly focused on Fick. Brad forced himself to maintain eye contact with the group as whole, no lingering on Fick, even as he took in Fick’s appearance.

His face was the same, although lined with a few wrinkles around his eyes, a long stubble beard and some distinguished salt and pepper at his temples. Fick’s hair was longer than it had been when they’d served together, although that wasn’t a hard measure to beat, but combed back and combined with the stubble beard, it gave him a rakish and yet controlled look.

“If it isn’t the LT,” Ray said as they stepped up, pulling Fick into a hug. “Wynn here kept saying that you were alive and kicking, but we all kept calling bullshit on it.”

Fick smiled at that. “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” he said. “And it’s been a while since I went by LT—let’s go with Nate.”

Ray made some response back and then was turning to Mike and Pappy, pulling them in for back-slapping hugs while Fick turned to Brad.

“Nate,” Brad said carefully and Fick nodded at that, pleased by Brad’s easy acquiescence if the small grin playing at his lips was anything to go by.

“Brad,” Fick—Nate—said, as if he too were trying it out. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you as well,” Brad said, just barely refraining from adding in a sir. Some habits were hard to break, even if they’d last been exercised well over a decade ago. “I have to say that I’m a little surprised that you’ve given up what could be a very pleasant weekend to spend it with us.”

Nate grinned at that, his broad smile lighting up his face. “Mike and Steve have talked up this weekend to me for the last six months. It was worth coming for the peace of mind alone once I gave into them.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like your expectations are significantly low,” Brad said. “You might enjoy the weekend after all.”

Nate laughed at that and that seemed to be the cue for everyone to start making their way towards the car rental counters.

The drive up to the rented house on Elkhart Lake took about an hour, broken up by a stop to get more alcohol and beer, as well as another quick stop for burgers which filled the car up with a delicious, greasy smell that felt like the perfect start to the long weekend.

By the time that they arrived at the cabin, a charming and more importantly, large house, situated right on the lake, everyone was more than ready to get out and get the party started, Brad included, and when he walked into the house, he immediately accepted the beer pressed into his hand.

First, there were hugs and greetings all around from the first few groups who had made it to the house. A chorus of “LT!” went up around Nate even as Nate good-naturedly accepted what was likely to be the first of several rounds of welcoming. Since Poke was local and living in Milwaukee, he’d grabbed some of the men who’d arrived earlier in the day before driving up to make sure that the house was ready. Vinnie Gomez, who’d been in Poke’s unit in Quantico and become an honorary part of the Bravo 2 group, had collected a second group from the airport and driven them up. About half the group would trickle in over the rest of the evening.

All of that was to say that there was, entirely unsurprisingly, already a bonfire going on in the backyard and plenty of half-drunk guys to welcome in the group.

Brad and Ray were shown to their room—they would be sharing with Eric once he arrived and they both dropped off their stuff before heading downstairs.

Nate emerged from his room and made it into the kitchen just as Brad helped himself to some water. With the amount of drinking that would most likely occur, he figured some extra hydration when he could squeeze it in wouldn’t go amiss. Nate, on the other hand, looked a little shell-shocked as he made eye contact with Brad.

“You look like you need this,” Brad said, opening the fridge to pull out a beer.

“Am I that transparent?” Nate asked, even as he took the beer, a smile on his face as he surveyed some of the men currently clustered around the TV.

“I don’t think that there’s any way that this wouldn’t be a shock to the system,” Brad said and Nate nodded in understanding there.

By mutual unspoken agreement, they both headed outside, where there was a nice fire pit with a roaring fire, plenty of warmth to ward away the slight chill in the air and Evan manning the grill. Half of the chairs were filled with men sprawling in them, beer in one hand and a burger or hotdog in the other, everyone shooting the shit and relaxing.

Brad and Nate got a nice second round of welcome, but it was more subdued and Nate looked more comfortable with that as they both took seats on the far side of the fire, affording each of them a view of the trees and vague darkness that was probably the lake.

“You’re living in Houston?” Brad asked after they were both settled.

Nate cocked his head at that, his eyebrows furrowing slightly and then he must have traced the trail of Brad’s logic. “Oh, actually, Steve transferred out to DC, which is where I’ve been based.”

Brad raised an eyebrow at that. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, then.”

Nate leaned forward, his whole posture becoming more alert. “You’re in the DMV area?”

“Over in Bethesda,” Brad said and Nate laughed even as his smile spread wide.

“We are neighbors, I can’t believe it,” he said and for a moment, he stared at Brad, his eyes not moving from Brad’s and then Nate cleared his throat. “I think that means that you can’t escape a friendship with me now. I’ll track you down.”

“I’d expect no less of you,” Brad said and pushed down on the excitement simmering in his stomach. So what if they lived relatively close to each other? So what if Nate had thrown around the possibility of reconnecting back home? This was what happened on a long weekend with the boys—everyone felt the deep bonds of friendship and left determined to stay just as close all year round. That determination usually lasted just long enough to get through security, dissipating shortly after take-off.

The conversation moved into safer conversational waters after that as Brad asked what Nate had been doing in the intervening ten plus years since they’d last seen each other.

“Consulting and raising kids, really,” Nate said and Brad ignored the swoop of disappointment. Nate hadn’t been wearing a ring, but many guys didn’t. He’d told himself not to read too much into it and was retroactively glad that he’d steeled himself there—although, again, he wondered what on earth it would have meant. Nothing. It would have meant nothing.

“How many?” Brad asked.

“Two. Two terrors. It used to be one and a half terrors, but the second one officially entered her teens and it’s been all terror all the time since then,” Nate said, laughing fondly.

“So not much has changed since you left the Corps,” Brad said and Nate really did laugh at that, lighting a warmth within Brad.

“Astute as ever,” Nate said. “I make do.” Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, sipping their beer and watching the curling flames of the fire pit. Eventually Nate cleared his throat. “Some days are easier than others. My ex-wife, Jen, and I share custody of our kids, but I have them a majority of the time.” Brad forced himself to keep his relaxed posture at the admission.

“Responsibility for two teen girls? Let’s just say that some days, I miss only being responsible for a company. And let’s not get started on the music selections.”

“I really hate to be the one to have to break this to you,” Brad said, leaning in as if he was going to impart a deep secret. Nate followed suit. “But I guarantee you that at some point this weekend, you will hear Justin Bieber, One Direction and Taylor Swift. Possibly at the same time. And almost certainly when everyone gets very drunk and does karaoke.”

Nate smiled again at that, his whole body leaning towards Brad. “On the bright side, I’ll already know all the words.”

As the evening wore on and the rest of the group arrived, Brad and Nate got caught up in a conversation with Mike Wynn and Eric, who’d arrived in the last of the convoy. Everyone seemed pleased to see Nate and Brad let himself be happy with that. Close to midnight, Brad finished up the last of his beer and got up. Nate looked over with a quirked eyebrow. “Past your bedtime, old man?”

“Pacing myself,” Brad said.

“Let me guess, you’re also going to wake up early enough to do something as wholesome and healthy as run,” Nate said.

“You can see right through me,” Brad said, dry, and Nate smiled. With the time difference, he’d be up before seven a.m., which would give him plenty of time to go for a run.

“I switched out from running a few years ago,” Nate said. “You’re going to be embarrassed for me when I tell you what I do now.”

Brad perked up, already smiling in excitement. “Don’t tell me—Nate, are you a SoulCyclist?”

Nate’s wince told him everything that he needed to know. Brad was delighted by this knowledge. “Does this confirm all of your suspicions about me?” Nate asked.

Brad nodded. “Yes, every single one.”

“Well, I’m more mature now,” Nate said. “I only mostly care about what you think of me.” But he grinned as he said it and Brad wasn’t sure how to take it.

As he lay in bed, the loud sounds of the men outside and the music from the living room downstairs drifted in. It wasn’t anything worse than he’d fallen to sleep to countless times before. But Brad struggled to find sleep. And he knew why—it wasn’t the noise keeping him awake, as much as he would have liked to pretend that it was. Outside of a periphery awareness of the other men, they made no difference. Instead, Brad struggled to put the concept of Nate back in his proper box.

He wanted to go back downstairs—he wanted to sit next to Nate, talk to him, look at him. Even the half hour that they’d spent discussing traffic in the DMV area had been riveting. Being around Nate was intense—there was no other word to describe it. It had been three hours and Brad already felt drawn to him, needed to be near him. And that felt dangerous.

Brad prided himself on his ability to discern the truth of situations, his ability to boil a problem down to its basic components and take each step in its due course. But Nate had always been an enigma—someone Brad could rely on—someone that he could trust—but he could never trust his own judgments about Nate. They seemed off-kilter, skewed because Brad wanted them to be skewed. Was Brad actually following ground markings or was he chasing shadows instead?

He’d been down this path before—trusting in the connection to Nate, back when he’d been Lieutenant Fick, and knowing that Nate trusted him completely as well. It had been good—possibly the best thing to happen while he was in Iraq. But was that all it had been? Trust? Or something else, something unspoken intertwined with trust?

In the morning, when Brad emerged at seven a.m., ready to go despite having slept fitfully, Nate was waiting for him in the kitchen, yawning as he poured himself some water.

“Morning,” Brad said. “I’m impressed you’re up, old man.”

“Who is calling who an old man?” Nate grumbled and then downed the glass. “I figured since I wasn’t going to find a SoulCycle around here, I’d try my luck with you.”

Brad resisted saying anything.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate said. “How about this? If I can’t keep up, I’ll turn back and leave you to your run in peace.”

“And you’ll buy me a beer tonight,” Brad said because the only thing more enticing than a challenge was a challenge where you had something on the line.

“And I’ll buy you a beer tonight,” Nate agreed. “But if I keep up, you’re buying my beer.”

“You’re on,” Brad said and knelt down to tie the laces on his shoes.

Unsurprisingly, Nate seemed to have been modest when he’d said that he’d stopped running as he kept pace with Brad for most of their run. There was a nice trail for running that went around the lake leading to another trail that ended at Sheboygan Lake, a few miles away from Elkhart Lake, and Nate good-naturedly followed Brad there and back.

They stopped in the town and got some coffee, enjoying the quiet morning and the cool-down back to the house.

“This is nice,” Nate said. “Peaceful.”

Brad laughed at that. “Don’t get too used to that.”

Brad and Nate got back just in time for breakfast, before everyone headed out to the golf course for their various tee times. Brad was in one of the later groups with Walt, Poke and Ray and tried not to feel disappointed about it.

Ray, of course, had managed to find the world’s ugliest golf pants. They were bright orange and plaid and they made Brad’s eyes want to bleed out. “Don’t you have any shame?” Poke asked as they waited around in the clubhouse for their tee time.

“He has no shame,” Brad said. “That’s what happens when you grow up in a trailer in the middle of buttfuck, nowhere.”

“Don’t front,” Ray said. “I know that you’re all just jealous.”

“Man, I think that you need to get new eyes,” Poke said. “You have the worst fucking taste.”

Ray smiled like it was a point of pride and knowing him, it probably was.

Poke was the best player of the group, but as they played through the course Brad felt like he acquitted himself well. And everyone seemed to have a good time. A few times, they ran up against one of the other Bravo 2 groups, everyone relaxed, even if the course proved a little troublesome after all that beer. Even Walt and Ray didn’t end up too badly, finishing in the distinctly not-bad category.

When the group finished, they headed back to the clubhouse for a late lunch, meeting up with almost everyone else. As it had the night before, Brad felt his awareness narrow in on Nate as soon as Brad stepped into the clubhouse. He forced himself to go to the bar instead of over to Nate, trying to at least pretend that he had some measure of dignity.

That illusion was quickly squashed when Nate sidled up to Brad at the bar, grinning, and Brad immediately felt a swell of relief that Nate had sought _him_ out.

“I think I recall something about you owing me a beer…?” Nate said, his smile wide. If Brad had been in any other situation, he would have said that it was a flirtatious smile, but again, that was a dangerous path.

“And you’re choosing to collect now?” Brad asked.

“That I am,” Nate said. “Are you going to pay up?” Something about the way that he said it, made Brad flush cold and then hot, and he motioned for the bartender to bring over two beers, never looking away from Nate.

“I always pay my debts,” Brad said.

“That makes you sound like a Lannister,” Nate said. At Brad’s confused face, Nate laughed. “Oh, come on, you’re telling me that you don’t watch Game of Thrones?”

Brad drew out his confusion for almost fifteen minutes before Nate caught on that Brad was completely bullshitting him and he took the revelation with relative aplomb. He shook his head a few times and smiled at Brad, wide and happy and something pinged in Brad’s chest that he immediately shook off.

Nate joined Brad when they sat down to eat, Eric and Ray pulling up to sit with them as well. It was an enjoyable lunch, Eric very relaxed and chatty, and the day-drinking had mellowed Ray out and he spent half the meal draping himself over Brad.

For the rest of the afternoon, Poke had rented a boat for those who wanted to go out and “fish”, which was really just a code word for “get drunk on a boat”. About half of the group went out on the lake, sure to come back with only sunburns, but fishing had never held much appeal for Brad. Instead, he hung back at the house, letting himself get drawn into a competitive beer pong competition and then watching the Lakers/Knicks game on TV.

Nate dropped into the spot next to Brad, just far enough that they weren’t touching, but close enough that Brad could feel the warmth coming off of Nate.

“Who are you rooting for?” Nate asked. Brad raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Right, my bad, you are rooting for the Lakers.”

“Went to a few of their games growing up,” Brad said. “Back in the day.”

They fell into an easy conversation from there, swapping favorite sports teams. It turned out that Nate was a die-hard Capitals fan, as well as into the O’s and the Ravens. Brad’s allegiances were more California-based, but he’d been to a few of the Capitals games over the past few years and watched many more of them on TV. He hadn’t really considered himself much a hockey fan, prior to living near DC, but he’d gotten more into it as a result of their proximity and enjoyed it as one of the few high-performing DC/Baltimore teams.

They meandered their way through some of the Capitals’ more recent heartbreaks before breaking down the current season. Only when a bunch of guys, sunburned and sweaty entered the house, flush with their minor fishing successes, did Brad realize that they’d been chatting for so long.

“I’m going to go up and grab a shower,” Brad said.

“Better do it before the boat crew beats you to it,” Nate said, grinning. 

That night, they had dinner at a small steak restaurant right on the lake, everyone in a good mood, not the least due to the selection of decent beer. Brad ordered steak, as did most of the group. Most everyone that was, except for Rudy, who’d gone completely Californian in the past few years and become vegan.

“Blech,” Poke said. “You couldn’t pay me to eat nothing but vegetables.”

“My body is a finely honed machine,” Rudy said serenely. “I need to maintain it and care for it to the best of my abilities.”

“I’d rather have my balls cut off than no meat,” Ray said, interjecting himself into the discussion, which, of course, prompted a round of fierce debating.

“I would absolutely rather have my balls over meat,” Eric said. “Are you kidding? Balls all the way.”

Brad made eye contact with Nate, situated across the table, and whose lips were pressed closed, presumably with the effort of not laughing. Brad raised an eyebrow, looking around the table, showing Nate just exactly who he’d decided to spend the weekend with. Nate grinned at that, acknowledging the point, but shrugged to indicate that he was just fine with that. When Brad slowly shook his head, Nate laughed at that and Brad tried hard not to feel pleased.

“Brad, which would you pick?” Ray said, interrupting.

“Balls,” Brad said. “I’m honestly not sure why we’re debating this. I’d say that I’m surprised by your decision, but I’ve known for years that you’re a twisted and fucked-up person.”

Ray grinned brightly. “Thank you.”

By the time that dinner finished and everyone started walking over to the one bar in town that did karaoke on Saturday nights, the debate was still raging but had gone on to find exactly what was the fine line to living life ball-less.

Brad found himself next to Nate, who had a look of fond tolerance on his face about the conversation.

“Not your normal Saturday night conversation?” Brad asked.

Nate smiled at that. “Surprisingly, not a frequent topic of conversation among my two daughters. And I’m pretty sure that I know what their answers would be. Nina, my eldest, is vegetarian so I don’t think that the conversation would have gotten too far off the tracks. Although…you never know.”

“How old are they?” Brad asked.

“Fifteen and thirteen,” Nate said. Brad raised an eyebrow at Nate to continue and Nate laughed, acknowledging the point. “That transparent, huh? You would think that I would have gotten used to not having them, but here we are. Pathetically codependent. If I can’t be near them, I’m making up for it by talking about them.”

“It probably means that you’ve raised decently interesting human beings,” Brad said. “Or that you’re pathetically codependent.”

“No kids for you?” Nate asked. His tone seemed to subtly probe at what might be on the outskirts of that question, although Brad knew that he might be reading too much into it.

“None,” Brad said. “Never seemed in the cards for me.”

“Why is that?”

Brad was silent for a minute, trying to think how to put his largely unfruitful relationships into casual words. How to take the enormity of wanting something serious, of wanting to commit himself to an endeavor, and each time that he did commit, always finding himself being led straight into an ambush. He’d wanted the right thing with wrong people or the wrong thing with right people. He wasn’t quite sure which was which, only that whenever things had gone towards being serious, it had always ended in disaster.

“I think that for the right person, it would have been something to consider. Or rather, something that I would have considered. But things never lined up like that.” Nate was looking at him, his face serious and Brad felt exposed—too exposed—and so he said, “To be honest, children also terrify me.”

“The Iceman is scared of kids?” Nate asked, letting Brad steer the conversation away even if the searching look in his eye said that Brad’s words had been noted. “I’ve seen every man in a company try to get your approval. You’re telling me that you can’t handle one eight-year-old?”

“I am absolutely saying that,” Brad said. “Men are easy. I understand men. I can read men. And generally, none of them are going to spontaneously burst into tears. Or if they are crying, it’s usually for a very good reason.”

“Ah yes,” Nate said. “Crying. We’re very familiar with that in the Fick household. And it is often not tied to reason at all.”

When they reached the karaoke bar, Nate hung back with Brad, content to drink slowly and mock the drunk and outrageous attempts at karaoke from their friends. Despite Ray’s persistent pleas, Brad opted not to get onto the stage and make a dumbass out of himself.

Nate, on the other hand, did eventually let Steve talk him into getting up and performing “I Want It That Way”, a decision he clearly regretted almost immediately, but resolutely plunged on. Nate committed to it, Brad had to give it to him, going all in on the arm gestures and body movements. The Bravo 2 guys were laughing their asses off and even Brad was smiling. He raised his glass to Nate in a mock salute, which Nate rewarded with an ostentatious wink.

Nate looked good up there—confident, happy. There was an odd pang in Brad’s chest at the thought of missing the transformation from the Nate that Brad had known, the kid really, to the man in front of him. Was that weird? It wasn’t like Brad had been moping around for almost twenty years. But the feeling was there all the same.

Eventually the song came to an end and Nate bowed to the crowd before handing the mic over to the next poor schmuck and then heading straight to Brad.

“How was it?” Nate asked, his grin as wide as his face and it was infectious, the pang in Brad’s chest melting away.

“You’re an inspiration to us all,” Brad said.

“Thank you, thank you,” Nate said. “That one’s always a crowd-pleaser.”

“So, you do this often?” Brad asked.

Nate threw his head back and laughed at that. “No, not really,” he said. “Mostly in my car when a good song comes on—my daughters used to think it was hilarious before I started embarrassing them.”

“I can’t imagine what could possibly be embarrassing about that,” Brad said, gesturing towards the stage. A woman was up there now, belting out some Taylor Swift. Well, Brad had warned Nate.

At the end of the evening, the two of them found themselves outside, alone, the cold air a relief against Brad’s skin after the overheated crowd inside the bar. Brad had drunk enough to feel tipsy and buzzed and as he stood next to Nate, leaning against the wall and illuminated with fluorescent street lights, Brad felt a rare sort of invincibility.

“I’m glad that you came on this trip,” Brad said, looking at Nate.

Nate met Brad’s eyes and held them and he swallowed once, Brad tracking the movement.

“I’m glad that I came too,” Nate said, his voice quiet but certain. He bit his lip and then released it, his eyes never leaving Brad’s. He opened his mouth and then closed it, evaluating Brad, although as to what he was evaluating Brad for, Brad had no clue. Or rather, he hoped that it was something in particular, but it seemed like a crazy thing to hope for, built on nothing more substantial than wishes and a feeling in his gut.

“I think a lot about our deployment in Iraq,” Nate said and whatever Brad had been expecting or hoping for, it certainly wasn’t that, but Brad switched tracks immediately.

“Do you?” Brad asked. “Anything in particular?”

“Nothing,” Nate said. “Or everything. I’m not really certain anymore.”

Brad smiled. “That about sums it up.”

“Sorry, I’m getting off track,” Nate said, looking frustrated.

“We are outside a karaoke bar at almost two o’clock in the morning, in the middle of absolute nowhere,” Brad said. “I don’t think that you need to worry about sticking to the well-trod path.”

“Are you going to hang out with me when we get back from this weekend?” Nate asked, another one-eighty for Brad to navigate. Nate was smiling, but there was a deeper undercurrent that Brad couldn’t parse.

Brad nodded. “If you invite me, I’ll show up,” he said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Nate said, his tone and face serious. He shifted, his body turning towards Brad’s and Brad found himself mirroring the movement.

Brad’s pulse spread up, trying to anticipate what was coming next, trying not to hope for something that he couldn’t have. Nate swallowed again, looking as focused as Brad had ever seen him, his attention solely placed on Brad.

Which was, of course, when Ray burst outside the bar with a cry of “Brad!”, startling both of them.

Brad turned, trying not to betray his extreme frustration with Ray, as he said, “What’s going on?”

“Vinnie just puked in the bathroom!” Ray said cheerfully, swaying as he navigated the step down onto the street. Vinnie throwing up was to be expected by this point—that idiot managed to drink himself sick every single year.

“Vinnie is a fucking lightweight,” Brad said.

“Oh yeah,” Ray said. “Boot and rally though.”

Brad rolled his eyes. When he turned back to Nate, Nate had oriented his body back into a more neutral position. Whatever he had been about to say or do, the moment was gone.

“Almost closing time,” Nate said. He had pulled out his phone and cast a wry grin at Brad and Ray. Ray pulled a long face of disappointment.

“But I didn’t even get to do ‘Like A Virgin,’” Ray said, throwing puppy eyes at Brad like Brad could somehow get the DJ to cue up the song quickly before the evening ended.

“The disappointment,” Brad said.

“Nate gets me,” Ray said. “He’s my brother.” Brad shot a look at Nate who was trying to suppress a laugh.

“Absolutely,” Nate said, although his face gave it all away, even as Ray took as permission to launch into a dialogue about his favorite pop songs.

They didn’t have to stomach it for too long, although Nate seemed all too familiar with some of Ray’s selections, as Walt emerged a few minutes later and not far behind him, the rest of the group trooped out in one massive spurt ending any further hopes of privacy.

The next morning, everything was in chaos, people dropping in and out of the big kitchen and living room to grab breakfast before heading out to catch their flights. Brad caught a glimpse of Nate earlier in the morning, as he had one of the first flights out, and then he was gone.

What had Brad expected anyways? Some fairytale, Hallmark channel weekend with Nate? And his fifteen other nearest and dearest Marine buddies? Brad wasn’t sure what he could have reasonably expected with a man that he hadn’t seen in fifteen years and whom he had once had an unresolved crush on. He’d had a good time catching up with Nate, he’d enjoyed seeing Ray, Poke and the rest of his friends in person. It had been a nice weekend and that’s all that he had a right to want from the weekend.

He repeated this mantra to himself as he, Ray, Rudy and Pappy drove to the airport, everyone in a good mood, except for Brad.

“Brad, have you thought about doing meditation or yoga?” Rudy asked when he gave him a goodbye hug at the airport. “I think that it would really help you balance your chakras.” It took a lot of willpower not to say what Brad thought of that suggestion.

The following Thursday, just after Brad got home from work, his phone rang, a number that he didn’t recognize popping up. Brad hesitated for a minute, contemplating letting it go to voicemail, but the voice of caution that it could be work-related won out and he picked up.

“Hi, Brad Colbert speaking,” he said.

“Hi Brad,” a warm and familiar voice said, stopping Brad in his tracks. “It’s Nate. I want you to know that I had to use some, frankly, very impressive recon skills to get this number.”

“Hi Nate,” Brad said. “Let me guess: you got it from Ray?”

“I would never reveal my sources,” Nate said.

“I would expect no less,” Brad said.

“Did I catch you at a good time?” Nate asked. Brad’s plans for the evening had been to sit down, watch a hockey game or let the ESPN highlights play in the background while he made himself some dinner. Not exactly the stuff of MTV music videos.

“Is it sad if I say yes?” Brad said.

“No sadder than my evening plans,” Nate said. “I’m going to cook dinner for the girls and then help Nina review for her chemistry test tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even get some sports highlights in before I fall asleep in front of the TV.”

“I think that may, in fact, be even more pathetic than my evening. I had planned to make it to bed before passing out with the TV on,” Brad said. Nate laughed at that and a warmth spread throughout Brad at the accomplishment.

“A man truly deserving of his nickname. Do people still call you the Iceman?” Nate asked, which led to a discussion about Brad’s current job as a senior military consultant where if someone called him that, it certainly wasn’t to his face and probably not meant as a compliment. Eventually, Nate cleared his throat, somewhat abashedly. “Well, there went my hopes of getting dinner on the table at a reasonable time. But before I go, I wanted to ask what your weekend plans are. I’m going to grill on Sunday, weather permitting, and wanted to know if you wanted to come over and join for it.”

 _Yes_ , Brad thought immediately and then sternly told himself to calm down. “I won’t say no to a good cook-out,” Brad said.

“Excellent!” Nate said. “The girls have been wanting me to barbeque for a while.”

“Are you sure that I won’t be intruding?” Brad asked.

“Definitely not,” Nate said, his voice full of barely said laughter. “They’re inviting some friends over to hang out, so if anything, you’d save me from being the lone adult in a sea of teenagers.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Brad said. “Anything to help a fellow marine. What can I bring?”

“Nothing, except yourself,” Nate said.

“If you don’t tell me what you’d like, I can’t be held responsible for what I do end up bringing,” Brad said.

“Somehow, I trust your judgment,” Nate said serenely. “Alright, I really do have to run, but I’ll text you my address. Feel free to come by any time after two and we’ll probably aim for dinner around five.”

Brad said goodbye and then hung up, feeling more than a little off-kilter, like he’d just been rocked by a mortar, the ground still moving underneath him as he tried to find his footing.

He showed up on Sunday to a charming red brick house, the kind that Brad had always imagined Nate living in, situated in a quiet neighborhood in Arlington. Brad had grabbed a six-pack of a craft IPA as well as a bunch of cookies for dessert and he stood for a moment outside the house after parking, just letting himself take it in.

When Brad rang the doorbell, there was a flurry of movement from inside and someone yelled, “I’ve got it!” before another stampede of footsteps to the door followed. The door swung open to reveal a girl, Nate’s youngest by Brad’s estimate, with long wavy brown hair and a tie-dyed shirt and tropical print shorts, standing there. She had Nate’s face practically imprinted on her and for a moment, Brad traced each connection there.

She frowned and squinted at him. “Dad, I think that your friend is here!” she yelled back into the house. “Hold on for one minute,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Brad Colbert,” Brad said.

“It’s Brad!” she yelled back into the house and then, when no one responded, she sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

She turned around and bounded through the long entrance way behind her, rooms branching off from it, and she disappeared through one of the last. Brad waited at the door, taking in what he could of the house. There were plenty of framed pictures of Nate and his kids on the walls, including a few with someone that could only be Nate’s ex-wife with the girls when they were younger.

Brad could see into what was a more formal dining room on the right, a long glossy table with enough seating for eight and a soft looking couch bracketing the windows on the far end. Classy, but also useful. Not unlike Nate. 

“Brad!” Nate called, stepping into view from the back of the hallway. “Come on through. Sorry for your ignominious welcome by Ava, my youngest.” Brad obeyed, closing the door behind him. Nate led Brad through a wide-open kitchen, a large island in the middle, and stairs on the far end leading to the second story of the house. Nate went through the kitchen and then out through a back door, descending down a short flight of stairs into the backyard.

“I hope you came hungry,” Nate said. “Because I have a lot of food.”

“I’m here to do my part in whatever way you need me,” Brad said and then held up the beer and box of cookies. “Can I offer you one or the other?”

Nate smiled and accepted a bottle of beer, although he did look intrigued by the cookies, declining until after dinner. “Or else, I will only eat cookies,” he said.

“I never took you as having a sweet tooth,” Brad said.

“Just think about all you’ll get to know now that we’re not bound by the Corps’ rules regarding fraternization,” Nate said, his smile crooked. “You might even find out my favorite ice cream flavor.”

Nate seemed to have the cooking well in hand, only needing to get up occasionally to tend to the grill, so they spent most of the afternoon just chatting. Nate’s eldest daughter, Nina, and her two friends, came out at some point and Nate introduced Nina to Brad. She was a more gangly and older version of Ava and her face blended more of her mother’s attributes, but there was still no doubt that she was Nate’s daughter.

Eventually, when the food was ready. Ava and her friend emerged to grab food, sitting at the far end of the yard and laughing to themselves as they ate, while Nina and her two friends took their food inside.

“Do you often grill?” Brad asked.

Nate shrugged. “More often in the summer, but it depends. I did it a lot more when the girls were a bit younger. Once they hit a certain age, most of our weekends were taken up with their stuff. Now, they’re more independent, so my weekends are a little bit freer once again.”

“Well, you do a good job,” Brad said and Nate’s cheeks reddened at that.

After dinner, the two of them sat outside, watching the sun slowly set and Brad felt something settle within him as they sat there. Neither of them spoke for a long minute, before Brad looked over at Nate. “I’m really glad that you invited me over,” Brad said.

“Of course,” Nate started to say but Brad shook his head and Nate immediately went silent.

“It’s always easy to promise something like this when you’re on a weekend like ours, but I’m glad that you followed through on it.”

“Oh,” Nate said and then went silent. “I wouldn’t do that.” And Brad heard the unspoken _to you_.

“Thank you for the good meal,” Brad said and raised his bottle to a salute to Nate.

“Thank you for the good beer and company,” Nate said and clinked his bottle against Brad’s.

After that, Nate seemed to effortlessly pull Brad into his life. At first, it was small things—Nate inviting him over to watch a Capitals game or meeting up for a disgustingly bourgeois brunch. As spring fully shifted into summer, Nate held more cookouts, sometimes with a few other families who had kids around Nina’s and Ava’s age, which he managed to talk Brad into attending. Even when he felt like an outsider, the only one without kids, Nate had an easy way of integrating Brad into the conversation but also knowing when to back off and leave Brad to his own devices.

It was nice.

After Nate invited Brad to a playoff Wizards game, Brad felt like he had to do something to hold up his own weight, so he looked up the O’s schedule and called Nate.

“Would you or you and the girls be interested in going to an Orioles game in the next couple of weeks?” Brad asked when Nate picked up.

There was a brief pause before Nate answered, sounding delighted. “I think that would be a lot of fun! Do you want me to ask the girls, there’s no pressure either way.”

Brad thought about it for a second. Brad didn’t have kids, hadn’t really expected to have kids since he was twenty and certainly hadn’t envisioned spending significant time with kids. They’d always seemed mysterious and more than a little terrifying. But if Brad had to weigh in, Nate’s kids seemed reasonably ok, as far as kids went.

Nina was a little aloof—if she was around when Brad was there, she spent most of her time in her room (although it sounded like she just spent most of her time in her room, period). Brad certainly didn’t hold it against her. She had condescended to tell Brad about how she was in an animal rights club at school and she refused to eat any meat, which Brad found frankly more puzzling than any of her teenage-related behaviors.

Ava had been quiet around Brad the first couple times that he had come over, until she found out that Brad had a motorcycle and she had almost talked Brad’s ear off asking him questions about it. She had decided that she wanted to be an engineer when she went to college, even at thirteen, and she loved math, so Brad tried to ask questions about those subjects, although he had very little to offer there. But, she seemed to enjoy talking to Brad when he went over, so he figured it was a net win.

All of that was to say, Brad didn’t especially like kids, but he liked Nate’s kids fine and if they were up for seeing a baseball game, he could think of worse people to attend an O’s game with.

“If the girls want to come, they are invited,” Brad said and, surprisingly, meant it.

“Alright, let me check with them. Hold on for just a second,” Nate said.

There were a few minutes of silence while Brad imagined Nate going up to the girls’ rooms. Eventually when Nate came back on the line, there was definitely a smile in his tone. “They’ve both said yes. You’re clearly a much cooler person to hang out with than me, because when I try to get them to an O’s game, I get rolled eyes and scoffs.”

“It’s ok,” Brad said. “I still think you’re cool.”

Nate laughed and then they moved on to finding a date to make it work.

Nate picked up Brad, Nina and Ava in the backseat of his car, and they both seemed pretty excited, Ava even wearing an Orioles shirt for the occasion. Ava had a whole new set of questions about motorcycle licenses that she peppered Brad with.

“When can I get a motorcycle license?” Ava asked Nate.

Nate shot Brad an amused look that seemed to lay the blame for this folly all at Brad’s feet. “Let’s focus on getting your regular driver’s license first.”

“You still have to wait like two more years for your permit,” Nina said smugly. She’d gotten her own permit a few months ago and liked to lord it over Ava as often as possible.

“You took Nina to drive in parking lots before she got her permit!” Ava said, indignant.

“I will take you at precisely the same time,” Nate said. “So, Brad, did I tell you that Mike’s going to be in town in a few weeks? He’s coming out for work, but is thinking that he might make a full weekend of it and bring his wife.”

That was the girls’ cue to turn back to talking, or arguing, depending on how one looked at it, amongst themselves, while Nate talked about a few restaurants that he was looking into making reservations at for a dinner with the Wynns.

“For an abundance of clarity, you’re invited as well,” Nate said.

There was a brief moment where something inside of Brad pointed out that going out to dinner with Mike and his wife felt a lot like something that another couple would do. Like a double date. Nate’s face hadn’t changed expression—watching Brad with an open, earnest gaze. He wanted Brad to be there, Brad could read that much. But the thing that Brad really wanted to know, the one piece of knowledge that Brad was desperate for—did Nate also wish that this was a date?—that was held out of Brad’s reach.

“Well, if you’re twisting my arm,” Brad said.

“Somehow, I think that if you really didn’t want to do something, nothing that I said or did would change that,” Nate said.

 _But if you wanted me to do it_ , Brad thought _, that would be reason enough_.

The game itself was a fun, if losing, battle. The O’s quickly fell behind to the Royals, but Nate bought everyone hot dogs and beer for Brad and himself as thanks for the tickets, so it was an overall win. The game ended a little after four p.m. and they headed back to drop Brad off.

As Brad got out of the car, Nate touched him lightly on the arm, the contact sparking down Brad’s spine and reigniting the banked heat for Nate that always seemed present. “I’m counting you in for dinner with the Wynns,” he said and there was a challenge in his eyes.

Brad met Nate’s gaze head on. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

Nate had picked out a trendy place in Navy Yard—Italian—and as the Uber dropped off Brad, he could already see that everyone inside was dressed to impress. Just after Brad entered the restaurant, Nate arrived as well, scanning the crowd as he opened the door. When Nate’s eyes met Brad’s, everything in the restaurant seemed to narrow in and focus on—Nate, on the rising heat under Brad’s skin, on the question loud and forefront on Brad’s mind.

Nate walked over, measured steps that effortlessly bypassed the other people waiting to be seated, his eyes never leaving Brad’s. Brad couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. Nate was so gorgeous and serious and he made Brad’s heart beat in a way that it had only been with one other person.

An arm’s length away, Nate stopped, his eyes questioning. Neither one of them moved. There could have been an earthquake, a shamal, a typhoon, none of it would have stood a chance between the two of them. And Brad knew, he needed to know, one way or another, the answer to the question he’d been too scared to ask. Brad had let himself push off the conversation, but it couldn’t be avoided any longer. 

“Nate! Brad!” Mike said from behind Nate. Nate raised his eyebrows asking to continue the conversation later. Brad dipped his head once in agreement and then they both turned to face Mike and his wife, Linda.

“I don’t think that I’ve seen you this many times in one year since we served together,” Mike said, his voice amused as he reached out to grip Brad’s arm.

“Well, you either have Nate to thank or blame for that increase,” Brad said and then let Linda hug him in greeting.

“I’ll pass judgment at the end of the meal,” Mike promised and then the hostess called for their group to be seated. She took them to a table in the middle of the restaurant, and Brad realized the awkwardness of the seating mechanics as soon as the table came into view. He shot a look at Nate—Mike and Linda would want to sit next to each other, leaving either Nate or Brad to sit opposite Linda. Nate inclined his head to indicate that he’d take the spot opposite her, but Brad knew that Nate wanted to catch up with Mike, so he quickly sat down opposite Linda as she took her own seat and she smiled at Brad as he did, as if she too was in on the secret.

Nate looked a little nonplussed, but he smiled at Brad crookedly when he sat down and gently squeezed Brad’s thigh in thanks.

Altogether, it was actually a nice meal. Although the place was trendy, Nate had done his diligence: the food was good, the music reasonably quiet and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Nate made sure that most of the conversation included everyone, but when Nate and Mike did drift off into their own conversation, Brad turned on his best charm-the-moms smile and ended up in a surprisingly enjoyable conversation about the Wynns’ youngest daughter who had just graduated college and was going to have her commissioning ceremony soon.

After dessert, the bill paid, Nate suggested going out to one of the nearby bars, which Mike and Linda declined.

“Thank you,” Linda said, covering up a yawn, “but I’m exhausted. We visited so many monuments and museums today. I have spent all day walking and plan to spend all night sleeping.”

Nate turned to Brad as Mike ordered a ride for himself and Linda. “What about you? Too tired for a drink?”

“That feels like a challenge,” Brad said and Nate grinned at that, shark-like. How could Brad back down from that?

They went to a hole-in-the-wall bar half a block away, with a few screens showing sports highlights but a decent enough beer selection and Brad and Nate ordered their beers and then lucked out and found a booth that a couple was leaving from, snagging it before another group found it.

“It was nice seeing Mike and Linda,” Nate said, after they settled in.

“Sure,” Brad said with equanimity. It had been nice enough although probably not something that he would have initiated without Nate. But if it made Nate happy, seemed reason enough. “I’ve always liked Mike.”

“He’s a hard guy to not like,” Nate said. “I can think of a few others from over the years that I’d be less than pleased to have dinner with.”

“Encino Man,” they both said at the same time and then laughed. Unfortunately, there had been more than a few versions of Schwetje that Brad had encountered in his time. Although, even now, out of the military, the civilian version of Schwetje still managed to show up. The good news was that Brad got to go home at the end of the day.

They meandered through a best-of compilation of Schwetje’s worst moments, grabbing a few more rounds of drinks as they went. By midnight, Brad was relaxed and happy, the wine from dinner and the beers from the bar forming a nice buzz.

“You know,” Nate said with a studied casualness, “I had a crush on you when we served together.”

Brad froze, a flare of anger rising up. That was how one made a drunken confession that they claimed to forget in the morning. That was the tentative nibbling, seeking out validation but allowing for full deniability. Brad had never taken Nate for a coward before and he was angry, irrationally so, that Nate might take the coward’s way out now. Brad wasn’t sure he could put into words how he felt about Nate, at least not all the right ones. But he would never approach it in any way but straight on.

“Don’t—” he said forcefully and Nate stopped as well while Brad fought through what he wanted to say. _Don’t be cavalier. Don’t play this like anything less than what you actually want. Don’t be a coward._

“Hey,” Nate said softly and he met Brad’s eyes. They were pale green and calm and there was a certainty in them. Even when Nate was scared, even when Nate didn’t know what the future held, he’d always had faith. He’d looked at Brad that way when they served together and it meant the same thing then as it did now. Faith in Brad.

“How about this,” Nate said. “I had a crush then—we were both twenty years younger. The way that I felt about you then seems simpler than what I feel about you and want from you now. Our lives are nothing like what they were when we were in Iraq.” He sighed. “I come with so much more than just myself. When we first met, I thought I knew who I was—my place in the world was so much more confident and clearer. Now? I’m a dad and my world revolves around that. I like you. I more than like you. I want to take you back to my place and have you stay the night. But most mornings, when you come out, my daughters will be there too. That’s a lot for anyone to take on.”

“Nate,” Brad said and there was a roughness to his voice that he couldn’t stop, “I don’t care that you’ve changed. I like that you have. But at the end of the day? You’re still you. Yes, you’re Nina and Ava’s dad. You’re as confident and as capable as you’ve ever been. I trusted you then and now? Now, I would trust you to the end.”

Brad stopped and looked at Nate. Even in the darkened bar light, surrounded by the tacky plastic of a booth, Nate looked crisp and clear, an anchor or cardinal direction that Brad oriented to. Brad wanted Nate so badly—this version of Nate, the version of Nate that he knew in Iraq—all parts of Nate. Nate continued watching Brad, his face open. Nate had put one hundred percent of himself out there and Brad owed it to both of them to do the same.

“Nate,” Brad started and then sighed, trying to find the words. “I want to go back to your place. I’ve wanted to go back to your place for a long time. Even back when your place would have involved getting sand in even worse places than it had already crept.”

Nate smiled at that, his smile growing until he looked down at his beer. When he looked back up at Brad, his features were more controlled but the brightness in his eyes gave him away. “What are we doing here?” he said.

“I have no idea,” Brad said and then he ordered an Uber so that they could get back to Nate’s as soon as humanly possible.

The ride back to Nate’s house seemed to take forever, far longer than should have been humanly possible. Brad kept looking over at Nate just as Nate looked at him, and another buzz of want would run straight down Brad’s spine and it took all of his willpower not to reach over and kiss Nate.

Halfway through the infinitely long drive, Nate reached out a hand and Brad took it like a lifeline. Nate’s fingers intertwined against Brad, Nate’s heartbeat announcing itself, and just that small touch felt like touching a live wire. He gently rubbed the side of Nate’s palm and was thrilled to see a shiver go down Nate’s spine. When Nate turned to face Brad fully, his eyes were dark and Brad tried to calculate how much he would need to tip the driver to smooth over the act of making out in her backseat, but gave up when he realized that he’d lost all ability to do mental math.

Eventually, an eternity later, the car pulled to Nate’s house and Brad practically grabbed Nate to push him out of the car faster. They needed to be inside, with all of their clothes off imminently, and Nate seemed content to move at a sedate pace as if he had all the time in the world. Everyone knew that officers couldn’t find their asses with both hands half the time, so Brad was more than willing to step up where he was needed.

Finally, _finally_ , they were through the front door, the lock engaged and Nate leaning back against the door, looking at Brad. He hadn’t turned on the lights yet, so Nate was barely visible, the sheen in his eyes giving him away. Brad had the presence of mind to ask, “The girls?”

“At Jen’s,” Nate said and then he reached for Brad and Brad reached back and, well—it turned out that maybe Nate couldn’t find his ass with both hands, but he sure as hell could find Brad’s.

At some point, they made it back to Nate’s bedroom, bed neatly done, and any remaining clothes were stripped off before the bed was promptly unmade. Brad’s brain kept stopping every five seconds and asking, _is this really happening_? Despite all logic suggesting that it would otherwise be impossible, Nate’s warm skin against Brad kept replying, _yes yes yes_.

Neither of them had much patience and although Brad certainly wanted to take his time to map out the terrain, just getting Nate’s clothes off gave Brad a rush of need and want that demanded an immediate answer. Slow would have to wait. Nate seemed to be on the same page as well, lube and condoms out faster than Brad could blink.

“Very prepared,” Brad murmured against Nate’s ear. Nate shivered and Brad took that as a cue to gently bite Nate’s ear and then kiss his way down Nate’s throat.

“I’ve been half-hard since I saw you standing there in that suit,” Nate said. “I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about what I’d like to happen sooner rather than later.”

“I don’t know if you know,” Brad said, reaching for the lube and moving down the bed, “but I am a recon marine.”

Before Nate could respond, Brad took Nate’s cock into his mouth and Nate made a strangled gasp. It didn’t take long for Brad to feel successful in his initial mission, based on the sounds that Nate was making. Brad felt like he could have spent forever there, in between Nate’s thighs, practically in heaven. But Nate pulled Brad up and kissed him, and that was good too—Nate biting at Brad’s lips until Brad was thrusting against Nate, desperate.

“I’m ready,” Nate said and then Brad lined himself up and slid home.

There was no way that Brad was going to last long with Nate’s heat surrounding him and their mingled breaths blending together in a half-kiss and half-pant. Gratifyingly, Nate came first with Brad following soon after. 

“Wow,” Nate said as he blinked up a few times at the ceiling. Brad felt pretty good, half-sprawled on top of Nate and very content with the world.

“Worth the wait?” Brad asked.

“That smug grin is entirely justified,” Nate said and then he turned to face Brad. “Entirely justified.” He leaned in to kiss Brad and this time, the urgency was more banked, they could take their time with each kiss. Brad could run his hands up Nate’s side and feel the warm skin, intoxicating and mesmerizing. He could feel out each of Nate’s scars, where the muscle led to softness, and Brad _wanted_ all over again.

“Yes,” Nate said, sometime later, drowsy and shadowed in the dim light coming in from the windows, “Absolutely worth the wait.”

In the morning, they had lazy sex, taking their time in the fresh light of day and with a few hours before Jen dropped the girls off. When they were finally motivated enough to leave the bedroom, Brad cooked omelets and Nate brewed some delicious coffee. It felt surprisingly domestic and unsurprisingly right.

“I’d like to tell the girls,” Nate said, sipping his coffee and curling his foot around Brad’s ankle. “If that’s ok with you.”

“Sure,” Brad said. “You’re the expert here.”

Nate laughed at that. “No one is an expert on parenting teenagers,” he said. “That is the only fact that I know.”

Eventually, when Brad did have to leave, he found that it was surprisingly hard—Nate looking good enough for Brad to take him back to the bedroom right then and there. Especially when Nate kissed him at the door, a long, deep kiss that left Brad wanting more.

“That’s not fair,” Brad said, when they eventually separated. “You’re making it very difficult to leave.”

“Who said that I wanted to make it easy?” Nate smiled innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“If we end up scarring your daughters because they show up and we’re making out at your front door, it will be entirely your fault,” Brad said and when he finally did tear himself away, he was already mentally cursing.

A few hours after Brad got back home, Nate called him. Brad picked up immediately, trying not to run through worst case scenarios for how the talk had gone with the girls.

“How did it go?” Brad asked.

Nate laughed and all of Brad’s fears melted away. “Nina looked grossed out and said that as long as I didn’t talk to her about my love life, she was fine. Ava said that she liked you and, I quote, ‘Brad’s pretty cool for someone your age.’”

“Ouch,” Brad said. “I’m not sure who comes off worse in that comparison.”

“I’d take it as a win,” Nate said. “Interested in coming over for dinner on Wednesday?”

“I’d love to,” Brad said.


End file.
